


heartbeat away

by todareistodo



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 19:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19091452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todareistodo/pseuds/todareistodo
Summary: dele doesn't know a single person that makes him happier





	heartbeat away

"It doesn't matter, yes?" Son smiles, sitting down carefully. The distance between them is carefully maintained; close enough that Dele can feel the warmth of his body, far enough that their knees merely brush when they shuffle impatiently on the hard surface.

 

Dele chews at his lip, pulling it into his mouth and raking his teeth across the surface, catching in the cut left behind from a patch of dry skin. Son shakes his head disapprovingly, raising a tentative hand to tap against his chin, touch light and soft. Dele sighs and pouts, teeth still digging into the soft inside of his mouth where Son can't see and tell him off.

 

"It's okay, Dele." Son tells him, smile growing again. Their knees are touching always now, Sonny's skin smooth as it curves over the muscles of his legs, Dele's dry stretched over bones pushing insistently at the surface. He knocks their knees together, lips tilting upwards at the left when Son pushes back harder, disrupting his balance for a minute.

 

"I know." Dele mutters petulantly, staring at his boots. The material has started to peel along the arch of his foot despite their newness. He plays with the flap with the toe of his other shoe, digging under it until it flakes away further, revealing ugly mesh. "I'm just pissed off."

 

Son smiles, leaping off the bench and wedging his feet in between Dele's, halting the movement of his boots he's now determined to destroy. "I know." He tells him, patting Dele's head and laughing delightedly when Dele sticks his tongue out, scrunching his face up. Son's nose wrinkles in reply and Dele allows himself to giggle, just a little, enough to make Son beam.

 

"Not your fault we lost." Son reminds him simply, hand now wrapped around Dele's wrist and yanking him upwards incessantly. Dele winces, desperate to pull his hand back but Son is determined and smiling at him so wide, and Dele can never turn that down, sighing and standing up.

 

"It's okay, Dele." Son reassures. "You have a shower and you'll feel better and we will win next time. It's what happens."

 

Dele shakes his head and laughs at his boots, slowly peeling his prematurely unnecessary kit off, chucking his boots in the vague direction of his seat, not caring when they clatter into something. "Very philosophical." He mutters sarcastically, but Son merely nods his head proudly and grins. "Yes, I know."

 

Son continues to call out to him over the rush of water, yelling things he knows will make Dele laugh even if he can't hear his reluctant giggles over the showerhead, Dele shouting back, hoping his voice travels to the changing room as he lathers the soap up, washes it off and does it again and again until he feels clean. He swears wildly when he gets shampoo in his eyes, blinking blearily against the sting of it as he can hear Son's laughter echo through the room and across the tiles. He smiles helplessly, even though it tastes like soap and chemicals.

 

*

 

"But you don't like sweet food?" Son reminds him, head cocked to the side and eyes narrowed.

 

Dele shakes his head, wondering why on earth Son bothers to pay attention to every tiny thing he mentions in passing, stomach fluttering pathetically at the realisation. He can hear Toni yelling at them to get back into space but he's scrambling for words and unusually distracted by the searching look Son is employing. He looks so confused, forehead beginning to crease as it heightens. Dele lifts his thumb to smooth it away. Son's skin is soft and perfect.

 

"I mean, yeah, I don't." He shrugs. "But I know you do, and I don't actually mind it. Everyone likes cake."

 

Son grins, nodding. "You're right." He agrees eagerly and Dele chuckles, pushing him back into position with a hand against the small of his back, pinkie finger resting on bare skin where Sonny's training kit has ridden up. He can see the smile soften on Son's face as he pulls his top down for him, smoothing the hem before he bounds away to join the other team, sticking his tongue out at Sonny who raises a finger to his throat, cutting it across. _Get ready to lose_ , Dele mouths, laughing as Sonny pretends to stare the other way.

 

"Concentrate, Dele!" Trippier barks, ball sliding past his feet and, of course, into place before Son, who grins brilliantly as he takes a single touch for control before pelting towards Gazzaniga bouncing in the net, rustling the crossbar to put him off. Dele sprints after, toes of his boots nipping at Son's ankles but he knows, like everyone, that the second Son takes to calculate his shot is going to end in a swooping ball perfectly slotted into the bottom corner. Son cheers, patting Dele's cheek as he glowers, and jumps at Winks running towards him who stumbles a little with his height and weight.

 

"That was your bloody fault, Tripps." Dele glares, lips pursed, not bothering to wait for Trippier's indignant response. "Stupid fucking ball."

 

Son makes a grab for the ball when Poch calls time up, cradling it in his arms and beginning a speech to jeering and cries. "I'd like to thank Dele, for helping me to start my hattrick!" He jokes, grinning when Eric shoves right between Dele's shoulder blades and sends him tripping forwards. "I could not have done it without you."

 

Dele smirks, saluting him. "Guess you can buy our coffees as a thank you."

 

Sonny eats a strangely pastel-coloured cake oozing cream before Dele's even made a dent on the chocolate cake Son picked out for him. He's licking between the prongs of his fork, humming happily as he watches Dele pick at his primly, rolling his eyes.

 

"Let me help?" He offers, and Dele barks with laughter but shuffles forward in his seat, pushing the plate into the middle and sniggering as they both crowd around it, heads bowed as it becomes a race to eat the most quickest. Son's eyes flicker upwards as he chews, watching Dele through his fringe, blinking slowly and Dele wants to push his hair out of his face. With chaste fingertips he tucks the strands behind his ear, smiling sheepishly when Son looks at him in question.

 

"You were getting hair on the bloody cake." He argues, blowing air through his nose as Son shrugs, easily accepting his reasoning, and tangles their feet together under the table, beginning to tell Dele about an upcoming fashion show that Dele could _definitely_ be his plus one for.

 

*

 

"You smoke?" Sonny asks curiously, staring at the cigarette slowly glowing orange between Dele's fingers. His coat has been discarded, the nice charcoal grey pea coat Dele would never admit to liking because it isn't _him_ , but that he loves to see Sonny wear anyway. His shirt is simple and well-fitted. Dele imagines his over-sized t-shirts hanging off Son's collarbones, his hands slipping underneath to touch warm skin.

 

Dele shakes his head, stubbing out the cigarette against the sole of his trainer and hoping the singe of rubber he hears isn't too serious. He laughs, momentarily, at the sound and chucks the butt away, not missing Son's disapproving glare for littering. His breath is short and his cheeks feel hot the way they do when he's had too much to drink, muscles wound up tight when they should be loose. Son is still watching him expectantly, lit by the glow of the open house door behind them.

 

"I'm just drunk." Dele promises, because it's true. "I don't. Don't worry."

 

Sonny shrugs, so easily accepting it makes Dele feel bad for how often he lies so as not to upset or break him. Everything feels heavy and too-hot and his bones ache, eyelids drooping.

 

"It's been such a draining season." Dele mutters, knees bending to sit on the wall. He hopes Harry doesn't mind how long he and Sonny have now spent in his front garden.

 

"I know." Son sighs, sitting down next to him, and his smile is tired and his eyes are slow. "I love it so much, but it is so much work."

 

Dele feels guilty, for a second, thinking of all the extra Son has thrust upon him, feels bad for complaining when Sonny does it all and more, always smiling, always there, making Dele feel better, no matter what. Everything crumbles for a second and Dele is exhausted, and desperate, and he doesn't know anyone who can spark something as pure and unadulterated as Sonny does in him. He launches forward, drunk sloppy and head banging, hugging Sonny tight into his chest and resting his forehead against his shoulder. He likes the feeling of Son's ribcage moving against his as they breathe. He can feel Sonny's lips curved in a smile against his neck. The smile dissolves for a singular second as he presses those lips to Dele's skin, featherlight and sweet, before he pulls himself away.

 

"I can't hug you any longer!" He declares, laughing at Dele's affront. "You smell too gross. Cigarette smoke - bleugh."

 

Dele sniggers, waving his middle finger in front of his face, gasping sarcastically when Son bats it away. He keeps hold of his finger still, grip loosening until his palm slides to hold Dele's hand, warm and soft and clean where Dele's hands are clammy. He brings them down to rest in the space between them on the wall, thumb moving slowly in circles over Dele's knuckles and Dele thinks he could cry, maybe.

 

"You could have used the word I taught you." Dele mutters, contentment tingling through his stomach.

 

Sonny beams, nodding his head. "Minging?" He offers proudly, Dele giggling at the sound of the word in his accent, nodding his head and grinning down at their hands still joined.

 

*

 

"C'mon, Dele, you are too slow!"

 

Dele rolls his eyes and forces himself to run faster, laughing at the funniness of his gait with Sonny's weight on his back. They've got the win in the bag anyway, Winks struggling to stagger more than a few inches with Dier clinging to his back and barking with laughter. Dele grins, shuffling Son further up his back and laughing as he squeals at the sudden movement, arms even tighter around Dele's neck. Dele can feel the thick muscle in Son's thighs flexing around his waist, the strength of them as he wriggles into a more comfortable position.

 

"You are so bony." Son complains.

 

"Stop whining!" Dele snaps, jostling him around deliberately and smirking as he squeaks again, latching onto Dele even tighter. He presses his hands more firmly into the thick of Sonny's thighs, feeling the muscle ripple under the perfect white skin. Heat starts to prickle along his collar.

 

"It's not my fault you are so bad!" Son argues back, kicking his legs to prompt Dele to start moving again, even though Winks and Dier are rolling on the floor in a groaning heap, Winks clutching his ankle and shouting at Dier for being a 'clumsy fucking oaf'.

 

They cross the makeshift finish line regardless, Dele triumphantly kicking one of the checkpoint flower pots as Sonny slides down his back onto his feet, arms already back around his neck for a tight hug. He can feel Son's breath hot against his neck, brushing against the little hairs. He grins, pushing him back to stick out his hand, performing their handshake perfectly whilst Winks limps to his feet with a scowl in Dier's direction.

 

"We are much better than them." Son declares when they've safely pulled away, walking towards the barbecue and garden table of food Eric has ready for them all, Dele following without thinking.

 

"Duh." Dele rolls his eyes, tearing into a bread roll Son pinches from between his fingers just because he can. He glowers at him but ultimately does nothing. "We are the best."

 

Sonny smiles, eyes crinkling so the little black freckle under his eye creases and Dele grins back, before shouting for Dier still crouched on the ground about something smelling of burning.

 

*

 

Light is filtering through the gaps in the cheap curtains. Dele watches street lamps cast shadows across Sonny's face, slithers of light showing off the paleness of his skin, or glistening on his eyelashes whilst they flutter as he tries to fight sleep. His lips are moving minutely, little murmurs making it out but they mean nothing and grow slowly quieter. They're pressed close together, thigh to thigh, Son's head slowly inching down to lay on Dele's shoulder. Dele searches for the blanket left on his seat he'd chucked away, tucking it as close into Sonny's body as he can once he finds it, grinning as Sonny snuffles and pushes further against him, mouth open and breath soft against his neck.

 

The coach is quiet, caught in the lull where adrenaline begins to dip. They're sat together at the back, protected by rows of seats and darkness, Dele's phone safely in his pocket and definitely not on live-stream. There's no cameras around and no one to notice, although Dele isn't too worried about people seeing anyway. He cards his hand through Sonny's hair, floppy and soft after his post-match shower, a little damp still at the ends. He strokes his hair until it's all safely out of his eyes, unable to stop himself playing with it a little longer because Son makes sweet sighing noises at the feel. He's just managed to teach himself how to braid, nodding his head proudly at the strand of hair he's plaited, eyeing it critically, when Son whines a little in his sleep and his head slips. Dele laughs, quietly, leaning back, and kisses the top of Sonny's head.

 

Jan prods them awake when there's no light left to show through the gaps. Dele can hear the whirr of aeroplanes, but he can also feel Son's head still rested on his shoulder and the wetness collected at the corner of his mouth in his sleep dampening the seam of his t-shirt. Sonny's hand is in his lap, body loose and limp and Dele doesn't want to wake him up. He slides a hand back through his hair, finding the plait he'd made has fallen out, and pokes gently at Sonny's side until he stirs. Jan watches them bemusedly, eyebrows raised and smirk bunching his cheeks until Dele hisses at him and he raises his hands in mock defeat, wandering away. Son is blinking disorientated and Dele feels that prickle of something pure along his skin as he nudges them up and out of their seats, smiling at the back of Sonny's hair ruffled where it was brushing against Dele's t-shirt.

 

*

 

"Don't be cheesy." Dele scolds, fully aware that they're holding hands across the table at the monthly team dinner, fingers threaded together loosely. They'd first joined together as part of a joke but Dele can't remember what the punchline was anymore, and they're still holding hands.

 

"I love everyone!" Son laughs, fingers flexing where they're resting against Dele's. "Not just you."

 

Dele barks with laughter. "Oh, charming."

 

"You know what I am meaning, Dele." Sonny rolls his eyes, leaning forward in his chair to pick up the water jug with his spare hand even though the palm resting below Dele's is closer and easier. "You are not that stupid."

 

Dele sniggers, everyone else unbothered by their conversation and the choking laughter Dele can't seem to stop even though nothing they've said is that funny. Sonny is laughing too, anyway, as always, eyes bright, grinning. His shirt today is collarless, tight still around his throat, which Dele watches without really noticing as he swallows. The skin is smooth and unblemished, even paler than elsewhere, close to transparent. Dele already knows what his hand looks like against it, gold of his rings on the paleness of his skin. He shuffles a little further under the table, grateful for the tablecloth.

 

"Is there something wrong with my shirt?" Son asks, peering down at it and wiping at random pieces of dust and the odd black hair caught in the material.

 

Dele smiles slightly. "No. It's okay."

 

*

 

"I can be your personal stylist." Son declares as he searches through Dele's wardrobe, taking out hanger after hanger and wincing dramatically before he puts it back, perfectly in place. "You definitely need me." He teases.

 

Dele rolls his eyes, watching him upside down, head hanging off the edge of his bed. The blood rush is starting to get uncomfortable, so he rolls over, narrowly avoiding the pile of clothes mounded on the edge of his mattress. He spies the strange wide-leg black trousers he and Winks had made fun of, laughing as he imagines his own skinny legs in them, fabric flapping around them. Son turns around to stare at him, confused by his laughter, but he just waves a hand and gestures for him to continue.

 

"D'you wanna stay?" Dele offers, staring at his watch as the minute hand ticks closer to 11:30. "We can go to training together."

 

Son nods, mumbling a thank you as he continues engrossed in his task of arranging Dele's wardrobe like he's been paid for it. He hasn't - he'd just niggled at Dele until he relented, allowed him free reign over his wardrobe and all the comments that came with it. He smiles, resting his head back against the soft covers of his bed.

 

"I've got a spare room?" Dele offers, leaving fresh towels on the chair in the room he leads Son into, offering him a pair of his joggers and a t-shirt. He hopes he can see what he looks like in his clothes, the t-shirt that'll show off his collarbones and wave around his hipbones, smelling like Dele.

 

They watch telly together, bodies tangled in a strange mess that allows Dele to stroke his fingers along Sonny's lower tummy under his t-shirt, feeling the skin quiver and prickle with goosebumps, until Son announces he's tired and kisses the tip of Dele's nose, bounding up the stairs in front of him and Dele laughs.

 

"You'll cause an earthquake." He shouts up the stairs, Son already disappearing around the corner, footsteps vibrating through the floor.

 

"Maybe!" He calls back. "Goodnight, Dele!"

 

Dele smiles, small and light. "Night, Sonny."

 

The shower is running when Dele wakes up, the echo of Sonny singing in Korean filtering from the bathroom in snippets. He grins helplessly into his pillow, listening carefully even though Son is truly awful; at keeping time and evidently remembering the lyrics, falling silent for seconds before he'll burst back in confidently. Dele sniggers, collecting his clothes Son has flung into the hallway, wondering if they smell of him now. The water stops, Son opening the door in a cloud of steam and flushing light pink when he notices Dele.

 

"Didn't know you could sing." Dele teases.

 

Son sticks his tongue out, stepping past him and into the spare room before Dele gets a chance to follow the droplet of water slipping down the slope of his chest. He shakes his head, whistling to himself because he's damned if he'll sing as poorly as that with anyone else in the house, locking the bathroom door behind him. He slips his sleep clothes off, heading to turn the shower on, before the mirror over the sink catches his eye. There's a heart drawn into the steam, staring to bleed together as the condensation swallows it back up. Dele smiles and draws his own heart next to it, perfectly identical.

 

*

 

"You should dye your hair again." Dele tells him, playing with his hair as they sit in the canteen, half-eaten plates in front of them.

 

"What colour?" Sonny asks, pulling a strand forward with his own fingers to eye the colour critically. "I like black."

 

Dele shrugs. "I do too. Go ginger." He teases.

 

Son looks so affronted Dele chokes on his next mouthful of food, laughing around it as Kyle leans over to thump his back. He splutters until he finally manages to dislodge it, eyeing the bit of potato still left on his fork contemptuously. Sonny giggles.

 

"Karma, I think." He grins.

 

"Yeah, well, thanks for your help." Dele retorts childishly, pressing his boot down on Son's toes until he yelps.

 

"If you actually needed me, of course I would help, silly." He tells him, rolling his eyes like Dele is painfully stupid.

 

*

 

Sonny's lips are soft and pink and he hums when Dele kisses him softly. The kiss is slow and careful; sweet. Dele threads his hand through Son's hair, feeling the softness of the strands tickle his skin, the warmth of his scalp at the roots. Sonny tilts his head just enough, everything falling into place and Dele can't stop himself smiling against his mouth before he presses harder. He slides his other hand underneath Son's shirt to spider his fingers along the small of his back. He pushes the tips of his fingers firmer into his skin, feeling it warm and smooth.

 

They grin at each other when Dele pulls back. Son's hand is clasped around his bicep, the other gripping the back of his neck. His thumb is running along the short hairs at the back of Dele's head, thumb nail tracing through the slit shaved into it.

 

"Bit cheesy." Dele teases, and Sonny giggles.

 

He presses his lips lightly to the few little freckles along his cheeks, under his nose, the couple breaking the perfect pale skin of his neck. He can feel that Son is still smiling, feel the vibration of his hum against his lips. They kiss again, slowly, long enough Dele's lips numb and tingle, long enough that Dele knows the whimper Sonny makes when you suck at the skin behind his ear, or run your thumb in the dip of his collarbone, or smooth a hand along his lower belly as you kiss him deep enough to swallow any of the sounds choking up his throat.

 

They sigh, and Dele could say a lot, make some comments that Son would roll his eyes at, laugh or smirk, but he finds he doesn't really want to say anything. Sonny rests his chin on his shoulder, eyes closed, smiling, so Dele plays with his hair until Son falls against him properly, resting against his chest, right over his heart that's beating slow and regular, Dele's tummy tingling with that purity of feeling he doesn't think he can name.

 

He brushes Sonny's fringe back away from his face, kissing the tip of his ear, holding onto everything on his tongue as Sonny draws heart shapes along his skin, nail tickling his arm as he traces the curves.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @cm0nbabyblue


End file.
